Dignity not poverty

Cairo is a bustling, polluted and noisy city with some 26 million inhabitants making it the second most densely populated city in the world (after Mexico City).

It is a city of contrasts – one one hand the antiquity, the pyramids, the Nile and the charm of the locals yet on the other hand, the bustle, chaotic traffic, noise and pollution of a city with growing pains. It must be one of the few places in the world where you can get 24MB broadband Internet access at home – though in true Egyptian fashion you can’t have it 7 days a week as the lack of infrastructure makes such advancements a lottery as to what is available and when.

The other main contrast that you can’t fail to spot is the widening gap between rich and poor. All around Cairo there are western billboards advertising the latest fashion, home appliance or German car. Yet go a few streets back from the main road, and the scenes are biblical in their primitiveness. With about 80% or so of the country technically beneath the bread line, the gap seems to be increasing. The huge wealth of a few, the massive rise of the semi-professional middle classes, with their gated villas and Mercedes is often an uncomfortable and visible indicator of Egypt’s rising prosperity and pace of change.

I was wandering through some of those back streets the other day, camera to the ready, conscious too that I was carrying in my hand more than most Egyptians would earn in about 5 years. With the average wage of, say, a policeman here about 300 Egyptian pounds a month – that is about 30 British pounds or US $45, it suddenly puts my photography “habit” in perspective.

Around one corner I met this man. Sitting on the steps of a Madrassa, stretching out his hand to any passing westerner. As a rule I tend never to give money in exchange for photos. I prefer to stop, chat, show some images, or print a picture on the spot with my Pogo printer. Nearly always, this meets the mark. They just want a fair exchange for me taking their photo and often they seem to cherish the conversation, the meeting and the photo more than the commercial and more clinical exchange of “baksheesh”

But on this occasion – whether it was the eye contact, whether it was my heightened awareness of the forthcoming holiday period or the inevitable over eating and over giving of presents – whatever it was, I felt myself compelled to give him the money I had on me at that moment. It wasn’t much as I tend not to carry lots of cash when I wandering around in unknown parts of the city, but it was about 100 Egyptian pounds or about $15-20 US dollars.

He took it, counted it, then looked at me and pointed at the camera. He shifted his pose and nodded. As I put the viewfinder to my eye, out shot his hand in that familiar pose. As I thanked him and gave him a print there and then, a small tear appeared at is eye. Out came his hand again and he gave me the money back. Now it was me that was close to tears as I saw how much more the picture meant to him than the money.

The whole exchange, despite there being money involved, had a dignity and pathos about it.

So wherever you are in the world, as we go into this period of festivities, family gatherings and indulgence, don’t just pass the person on the street by. Stop, chat and share. Sometimes all they want is to know that you care.

2 Responses to “Dignity not poverty”

  1. I had a similar experience this week. A man has been sleeping on the roof of the local powerstation for ten days and the temperature has been varying from 0 to -6 degrees.

    For then ten years I have lived here, I have never seen anyone sleep there.

    I’ve gone out with hot soup and foamy mattresses to sleep on. Socks and a woolen hat. then a summer duvet. And then the weather forecast predicted -13. I went out with an old down winter duvet and told him he had to start looking for a place to stay indoors. He told me he probably had an place the next evening.

    And then came the heartbreaking question: “How do I get in contact with you to give you your things back?”.

    I told him if he could find use of the things he could take them with him. The next evening he was gone, and the spot was empty of things as he had never been there.

    I thought of the phrase “Ships that pass in the night”. I do not know his name or nationality (we spoke english). Don’t know where he came from and where he was going. And to him I was a stranger who ruined his sleep by waking him up every morning.:-) He does not know my name or where I live. Bu helping out felt really good.

  2. Marco Ryan says:

    Your small act will have made a lasting impression

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